


The Shade's Journal Pt. 1

by Devilc



Series: Shade's Journals [1]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Starman (Comics)
Genre: D/s, Dubious Consent, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Knight discovers he's no match for the Shade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shade's Journal Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the first 50 or so issues, James Robinson's take on the character Starman was one of the best comics on the market. Seriously, even people who didn't like superheroes liked Starman. It had everything to do with the fact that the emphasis was on character (not on meaningless fight scenes) and the fact that Starman had a great cast of supporting characters, not the least of which was the enigmatic Shade, an immortal British victorian (ex)supervillian with a penchant for writing his diary. Another reason the series was so enjoyable was Robinson's knack for writing witty dialog  I loved the verbal duels between Jack and Shade. My favorite runs something like this:  
> _Shade — "Are you familiar with Oscar Wilde? His works?"_
> 
> Jack — "No, I'm a complete moron."
> 
> (This is also some of my earliest fanfic, caveat lector)

I headed over to Jack Knight's bachelor's flat with another one of my journals. The place was, as usual, in a state of extreme untidiness.

I found Jack in his underwear, sprawled on his couch, surrounded by a galaxy of dishes, magazines, books, newspapers, and dirty clothes. Two bottles of wine, one opened and empty, the other just begun sat on the coffee table next to a half-eaten anchovy pizza.

Jack started a bit when I popped out of the inky nothingness next to his television.

_"Ahhhhhh!"_

"Sorry...I came to drop off another one of my journals and pick up the old one. Hopefully unstained this time." Though, looking at the general clutter, I doubted Jack would be able to locate my journal anytime soon.

"Jeezus! You could've at least called!"

"Yes, well, I've come for my book." I turned and looked at the television. I recognized the movie as Ben Hur, one of my favorites.

"Like I'm gonna be able to find it anytime soon." He paused, "Hey, why don't you stay for the rest of the movie?" He flashed a roguish grin.

It is so seldom that Jack is actually hospitable towards me that I decided to take him up on the offer; after all, we will be associating for years to come in all likelihood. Might as well try to keep things as cordial as possible.

With a sweep of his arm, Jack cleared the cushion on the couch next to him and patted it, eyes barely leaving the screen. Gingerly, I sat down. Something under my right foot was, well, squishy, and when I lifted my shoe to look at it, I got rather a nasty little surprise in the form of a used condom sticking to the sole.

Dangling it in his line of vision, I commented, "I see we've been entertaining."

"Gimmie that!" He flushed dark red and snatched it, scampering off to dispose of it. He returned with a clean wine glass and asked if I'd like a slice of pizza. I declined. "Your loss," he responded, cramming a huge mass of congealed grease and anchovies into his mouth. Heavens. I poured myself a glass of rather indifferent Merlot and settled in to watch the movie.

I remained for the next movie, Apartment Zero, a rather dark, sexually charged psychological thriller. An altogether excellent movie  I must remember to get a copy.

Somewhere along the line, we managed to polish off the Merlot and made great inroads on an equally indifferent bottle of Pinot Noir. Jack's face grew flushed with drink, his gestures became bolder, and his dark eyes took on a glassy lustre. As he animatedly talked, he roughly pushed errant black locks back into place, instead of his usual careful finger combing. We began to talk of times past, mainly of the authors I'd known, and from there the topic settled on to Oscar Wilde.

"So, did you and Oscar ever, you know?"

"What?" The question came as a complete shift in topic.

"This." And with that, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me roughly on the mouth. Before I could react, he had untied my cravat and started work on the buttons of my vest. (Mothers of Turk County beware your daughters' virtue!)

Extricating myself from his embrace I said, "Jack, you're drunk. I'll return tomorrow."

Anger heated his eyes as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Yeah, well, whatever. Fuck off."

I turned and made to go when he tackled me and quite literally ripped the jacket from my back.

Stunned as I was by the assault, he rather more easily than he should've been able to maneuvered me flat on my back, and ended up sitting on my pelvis while he pinned my arms down with his knees. Feverishly he unbuttoned my shirt, and roughly ran his hands down my chest, pinching my nipples.

"You know you want it," he growled. He looked so proud, so high and mighty, that I think he honestly believed that I was at his mercy. Clearly he had no idea of just what it was he was dealing with. I decided then and there that it would be amusing to teach the cheeky little whelp a lesson he'd not soon forget. "I'm warning you, Jack..."

He grinned devilishly, shifted his position, holding my hands down with his hands, and proceeded to lick my chest. Such impudence.

With a simple stream of shadow, I sent him flying to land face down on his kitchen table. With ribbons of shadow I bound his legs and arms. Leisurely strolling over, I gagged him with a none too clean bandanna and then stood back to survey my handiwork.

A mixture of terror and excitement filled his handsome face.

Standing behind him, I ripped his boxers down with one hand while using the other to unbutton the fly of my trousers.

I thrust into him without preamble. He moaned loudly behind the bandanna. I had savagely rammed into him about 4 or 5 times when he shot all over his kitchen table; a strangled cry escaped from behind the gag. His little gasps and cries urging me on, I rode him for another 10 minutes before reaching the pinnacle.

In the thirty seconds it took for me to pull out and adjust myself, he fell soundly asleep. I must say it was a charming sight  Jack Knight bound and asleep in a pool of his own seed.

I left without untying him.

I shall probably go over at about 11 am and take pity on him...but then again, I might not.


End file.
